


All I Do (Is Sit And Think About You)

by Noname109



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Come Swallowing, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mates, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Pining Derek, Possessive Derek, Scent Marking, Top Derek, Werewolf Courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noname109/pseuds/Noname109
Summary: The three times Stiles was oblivious, and the one time he figured it out.Or how Stiles figures out how to court a werewolf unintentionally.





	All I Do (Is Sit And Think About You)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Title from _It’s Not Living (If It’s Not With You)_ by The 1975. 
> 
> And don’t worry, I will update my series’ soon!!!

Stiles watches Scott do it first. And it’s not like he hasn’t seen anyone in the pack do it before, it’s just different when Scott does it. 

He sees him do it after a long hunt. They’ve been looking and searching for some sort of lizard man — that Stiles keeps calling various ninja turtles — for what seems like hours and hours on end. 

And Stiles is covered in blood and goo, and he’s not sure if it’s his own blood but he’s too tired to care. And the pack gathers in Derek’s living room so they can chat and mingle, so they can cool down and wipe themselves off, but he can’t bring himself to contribute.

Stiles watches from the comfort of the soft couch, silent for once in his life. He lets his head roll back, and he sees it happen. 

Scott is grinning big and wide, laughing at something Isaac must have said, and then he brings his hand up and grips the back of Isaac’s neck. And both of their looks turn sappy and even more joyous. 

Isaac practically melts as Scott rubs his thumb against the skin of the nape of his neck. Stiles watches with wide eyes, and only breaks his gaze when they turn theirs on him. 

Then he turns to Lydia to distract himself. And watches as Jackson does the same to her. And she turns her head to look up at him with dreamy eyes, smile all bright teeth and lipgloss slick lips. 

And Jackson, big asshole Jackson, keeps his hand there and his face turns soft and their conversation turns quiet, just between them. Successfully blocking Stiles from joining. 

So he sighs and leans further into the couch cushions. His body aches and his fingers feel like ice. The cold weather bites into his skin, and a shiver shakes him. 

“Here,” he hears, and turns his head to find Derek offering out a quilted blanket. It looks thick and heavy in his hand. The edges are tinged purple and they fade into a pink in the middle in a spiral formation — obviously handmade and fashioned to look rustic. 

Stiles reaches out with two hands so he can hold the weight of it without fear of dropping it. He spreads it out over his lap and lets his legs spread out, muscles shifting and settling into maximum comfort mode. 

He feels the shift of a body next to him, and opens one eye he didn’t realize he had closed. He watches Derek eye him up, then copy his posture as he sinks into the couch. 

Stiles hides his grin. 

They sit like that for a long time, in companionable silence as they listen to the chatter of the pack. 

“Stiles!” He jerks awake, sputtering, flails only contained by the heaviness of the throw on top of him. “Gotta get you home, man, it’s gettin’ late as shit,” Scott says, and pats him on the back. 

Stiles watches through heavy lidded eyes as Scott gathers up his own jacket, then Stiles’, and makes his way for the door, giving his final goodbyes to the group. 

Stiles stretches his arms out over his head and groans at the feeling of his body complaining. 

But he gets up nonetheless and begins to make his way out the door, albeit sleepy and half conscious. 

Isaac lingers for a bit with Scott, taking time with his farewells, and Stiles begins his. 

Derek stands awkwardly at the edge of the group of people. 

And really, he should have thought it through better in retrospect, but he’s Stiles and trouble is his god damn middle name. 

So he walks right up to Derek and slaps his hand to fit along the back of his neck, and leans in close for a hug goodbye. 

Because that’s what good friends do. 

And Stiles is really expecting a, “hey man, thanks for dropping by hope to see you again soon, have a good night,” kind of thing. But instead, the room falls to absolute silence. 

He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, can feel the blood rush to his face as he pulls back to look at Derek. 

Derek’s eyes are comically wide, his nostrils flaring and lips parted just enough for a stuttering breath to pass through between his teeth. And Stiles watches in awe as Derek’s fangs drop, as his fingernails turn sharp where they’re dug into the skin of Stiles’s hips, holding him just close enough that Stiles can see just how much damage he’s done. 

As if Derek didn’t hate him enough all ready. 

For what feels like an eternity, they just stare at each other. Stiles’s focus bounces between the wet jet of Derek’s tongue against his lips, to the burning red of his irises as the color swirls and changes rapidly from normal to Alpha-in-charge bright crimson. 

“And I think that’s enough of that,” someone finally says, and pulls at Stiles’s shirt until he’s somewhat able to walk out the door and towards Scott’s poor excuse of a car, eyes still locked on Derek. 

It takes Scott three times to finally convince him to get in the vehicle and to close Derek’s front door. 

“I should go apolog —“ 

“Just get in the —“ 

“Did you _see_ his —“ 

“ _Stiles_ , please just —“ 

“But, Scott, I should just —“ 

“Stiles, get in the _fucking_ car,” Scott snaps. He says it so loudly that the birds in the nearby trees fly away with a trail of unhappy squawks left behind them. Stiles flinches at the harshness of his words. 

“Dude, don’t use your Alpha voice on me, you know how much I hate it,” Stiles mutters, and dejectedly gets into the car. He hears Scott’s exasperated sigh even over the slam of the car door. 

They peel out onto the road with the roar of an engine too old to be working, and Stiles lets the wound up coil of muscles go with a whoosh of air. 

“Dude, what the fuck did I do?” Stiles asks, barely a breath. 

Scott keeps his eyes on the road, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. He shakes his head. 

“I don’t know, man.”

* * *

So Stiles keeps his head down for. He doesn’t need two pissed off Alphas running around Beacon Hills, and with how Scott’s been acting he’s starting to get edged toward being so overwhelmed he breaks. 

He goes to his classes like normal, the ever impending doom of graduation looming just around the corner. 

Stiles rounds the wall that connects to the next hallway and runs right into a solid mass that knocks him on his ass. 

“ _Oomph_ ,” he breathes out as his body connects with the cold floor. “What the hell — Derek, what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, and gathers up his books he dropped and shoves them back in his bag that’s burst open with the impact. 

Derek leans down and helps him, shuffling stacks of papers together into some sort of haphazard pile that he helps stuff back in his backpack.

“Thanks, now tell me what you’re —“ 

“Where’s Scott?” Derek asks, and he reaches out his hand to help Stiles up. He ignores it and uses his legs to push up the rest of his weight until he’s meeting Derek’s eyes. They’re on a level playing field now. 

Stiles sighs. 

“That seems to be all you people want me around for anymore. A Scott detector. Like a metal detector, except instead of beeping I just —“ 

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek hisses, and just points to his phone. On the lock screen is a big, white circle. At the top is the time, and the bottom is the glittering line of text reminding Derek that he needs to update his password on some website. 

“A circle? Dude, I flunked geometry you’ll have to walk me through this one.” Derek’s brow, somehow, almost impossibly, furrows further and he breathes out fast and angry. He just pushes it further into Stiles’s line of direct vision. “You holding it closer to me isn’t going to help me decipher your little wolfy code.” 

“I thought that’s why we keep you around.” 

Stiles snorts. 

“You keep telling yourself that, big guy.” 

And Stiles moves to push past him so he can continue on his previous path — out of school grounds and back home where he can sleep. 

Derek just grabs him by the back of his collar and heaves him back into place standing in front of him. 

“Hey!” Derek’s only response is him cocking his head to the side and showing him the phone again. “Get your full moon out of my — oh.” 

Stiles stops dead in his tracks and breathes in a deep, steadying breath. 

“Took you long enough. Where’s Scott?”

“He said he was heading over to Isaac’s or something, said he was gonna work on some homework or —“ 

“He went to Isaac’s?” Derek’s face relaxes by a fraction of an inch. 

“Uh huh. Did you get what you came here for? Can I leave now?” 

Derek catches his shoulder again. His fingers slide over the fabric of his jacket. The fabric rubs together and he toys with it for a minute, eyes all big and concentrated. His nails trail over the loose string, and with one quick move he pulls it off and it falls to the ground. 

And before Stiles can even thank him, before he can even think about moving again, those fingers slide up and under, skin on skin. 

Stiles holds his breath and tries not to move even a little bit. He hopes his medications start kicking in soon before he ruins this too, just like before. 

Except this time, Derek’s lips are pressed together in a firm line, forehead wrinkled with how focused he is on the task at hand. 

Derek moves slowly, centimeter by centimeter as he fits his hand to form a solid weight at the back of Stiles’s neck. 

And it’s a weird chain reaction. His immediate reaction if this were anyone else? Run for the hills and hope they don’t follow. But for some strange reason, maybe later he can blame it on the full moon, his body relaxes all at once. His shoulders drop, and his fingers loosen on the grip he has on his own shirt. And Derek visibly relaxes. 

He lets out the air in his lungs little by little until he’s able to breathe normally again. Derek’s thumb brushes over the stubble at the back of his neck. 

“You got a hair cut,” Derek murmurs. 

“Yeah, last week,” he breathes back, voice a tremor. 

“Are you _sure_ he’s at Isaac’s?” 

“One hundred percent sure.” 

Derek nods, his movements tiny and if Stiles blinks he feel like he’ll miss it. So he keeps his eyes wide open as he takes Derek in. 

This close he can smell the forest clinging to him, the dirt and the grass, the trees and the pollen. It tickles his nose. He reaches his fingers up to itch it, and Derek meets him halfway there, his other hand finding Stiles’s and their fingers meet for only a moment. 

“Stilinski!” He hears his coach yell, and his head whips around. “Get off school property before I kick ya off of it. No loitering after hours.” 

And when Stiles turns his attention back to Derek, all that’s left is the lingering scent of something sweet, like candy. 

“Yeah, sure thing, coach!” He calls back. 

And as he walks back home, he doesn’t wonder why he has an extra kick in his step. 

It’s probably the full moon anyway.

* * *

A stick. 

A rock. 

Something wet. 

It all rolls by as Stiles tumbles, stumbles, and falls down, down, down. 

_Crash_. 

He gasps awake, sitting up in bed. His sheets cling to him, sweat drenched and too hot to stand. He pushes himself out of bed and barely makes it into the bathroom before he’s retching into the toilet bowl. 

And he tries to focus on everything else but last night’s dinner swirling down the drain. He heaves again, but nothing comes up. It makes his eyes burn with unshed tears, and he can just feel the capillaries bursting in his cheeks with the strain of his body forcing the nightmare out. 

A cool towel is pressed across the nape of his neck, but he’s too tired to even turn to see who did it. He just hugs the bowl and hopes his body is done. 

He waits for several more long minutes before he pushes himself back up onto shaky legs and in front of the sink. 

He meets Derek’s eyes in the mirror, the room dark and lacking light. 

“Don’t turn it on, my dad will wake up,” Stiles croaks, and Derek nods. 

“I don’t need it anyway.” 

Stiles snorts, and chokes on his own snot. 

He washes his mouth out with something that tastes fruity, and washes the smell of bile off his hands with scentless soap. About halfway through, his mind catches up with his body and his knees buckle. 

Derek’s there before Stiles even feels it and catches him with an arm across his chest and under his arms. 

“I got you.” And if he weren’t so exhausted, Stiles would complain, but instead he just goes along and lets Derek practically carry him to stand in front of his bed. “Stay here.” 

Stiles nods dumbly and helplessly watches as Derek strips the bed, making a makeshift sheet out of a spare blanket. He evens fluffs the pillows and pulls the top duvet back far enough that Stiles can fall onto the mattress easily enough from where he’s leaning against the wall for support. 

Derek helps him under the covers. 

He ends up settling on his side, facing Derek. He crouches down so they’re eye level. 

Derek reaches out and finds his hand. Stiles watches black lines make their way up Derek’s arm, up and up and up until they disappear in the thick muscle of his chest. 

His body immediately settles, and he lets his eyes flutter shut. 

“Took the fever away,” Derek breathes, and it ghosts over his face, over the little hairs that are stuck to Stiles’s forehead, wet with sweat still. Derek wipes it for him with the edge of the blanket he’s not using. He tucks it up higher, pushing it in around his shoulders. “Sleep.” 

“How’d you know?” 

“Wolf intuition.” Stiles huffs a weak laugh and doesn’t even bother opening his eyes again. Derek rests his arm next to him and Stiles can feel him just staring, but he’s too tired to ask, or even wonder, why. He feels exhausted down to his bones that creak with the sleepiness. “Sleep,” Derek says again, and he slips his arm under the covers so he can put the cool cloth on the back of his neck again. 

“Thanks, Sourwolf,” are his last words before the darkness edges in again and sleep takes over. 

He dreams of pulling taffy and giant ice cream cones.

* * *

Graduation comes and goes without a hitch. His dad tries to make a big deal out of it, but the party is a dud and he just ends up sleeping through half of it anyway. 

It’s only when the college acceptance letters start rolling in that he starts getting really, genuinely excited about the future. 

His desk in his room is covered in them. He has them tacked up on a board, taped to his fridge, and even in his car. And he shouldn’t want to show them off as much as he does, but he just can’t help it. He worked hard for it, he’s allowed to flaunt it at least a little. 

Everyone so far is supportive, especially his dad. The whole precinct knows he’s off to bigger and better things somewhere far and grand. 

Stiles doesn’t even realize anyone has a problem with it until late one night. And he’s got the stupid app on his phone, he should know to check it often, but it’s an afterthought at this point. 

That’s mistake number one. 

Mistake number two? 

Leaving both his back door and his window open. 

So when he gets home, it’s not surprising to find someone in his house — the pack comes to visit all the time to either steal his snacks, or at least to take the couch and watch TV while his dad isn’t home. 

The one guest he isn’t expecting is Derek. 

Of all people to break into his house on a late Tuesday night, he is not expecting it to be Derek. 

And one glance down at his phone’s lock screen would have told him why, but he just throws it on his bed and sits down on it. 

“Pretty sweet, huh?” He asks, and watches Derek read over his letters meticulously. He hums. “That’s all I get? I worked fucking hard for those, you could at least —“ 

“These are all out of state.” It’s said so quietly Stiles almost misses it. 

“Well, yeah, where’d you think I was gonna go with all my talent?” 

Derek stays silent as he picks up another letter. He reads through a couple more before he turns around to meet Stiles’s gaze. 

Derek nods a couple times to himself, as if coming to terms with something Stiles isn’t in on. 

“So?” Stiles asks, and puts his hands behind his head. He settles back on his bed. The last thing he’s expecting is Derek to pull him up, standing him up on his feet. It sort of knocks the air out of him with how fast it happens. Derek’s hands hover over his shoulders, his torso, finally settling on his hips tentatively, his fingertips barely there. 

Derek hangs his head and leans in close, breath coming slow. His touch is a ghost of one. He sways on his feet. Stiles dares to breathe in deep. Today Derek smells sharp, like sunshine and blooming flowers. And he just can’t get enough. 

Derek shakes with his next breath. 

He lets it out in little spurts that bring him in closer and closer. 

“I thought — I just.” 

“What?” Stiles exhales, and Derek meets his gaze. His eyes glow red. He blinks a few times but it stays that way. His gaze follows the lines of Stiles’s face until they settle on his lips, then he bows his head again. 

On his next inhale, he tries to say something but Stiles’s human ears barely pick up on it. 

“Gotta speak up, big guy. Spit it out.” 

“I’ll follow you.” 

“What?” He asks again. 

Derek gulps, throat bobbing. He pauses for several long moments. 

“I thought... I didn’t know.” 

“Gotta be more specific, buddy.” 

Stiles reaches up slowly, carefully. He trails little paths up strong arms, pokes at the muscle, lets his hands rest momentarily over broad shoulders, then settles as a strong weight at the back of Derek’s neck. He laces his fingers together, and he lets the weight of his body press in close. 

“I’m in love with you.” And then silence. And Stiles watches Derek fall apart in his arms. Tears drip heavy and fall from his face after leaving little trails down his cheeks. “I would follow you anywhere and I thought —“ 

“I didn’t think —“ 

“You —“ 

“I love you.” He feels Derek’s shoulders shake, feels him tense and tremble with fear — fear he caused. “And you don’t have to follow me anywhere.” 

“Yes, I do,” Derek says resolutely, voice thick from the tears. He sniffles. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Mieczyslaw Stilinski. I would —“ 

And Stiles doesn’t even care anymore. He’s done pretending. Done dancing around, done patting around the bush. He’s so done with trying to fake it that he breaks. 

And he doesn’t worry about the pieces left broken on the floor, because Derek catches him. Doesn’t even let him get that far. Doesn’t even let him _think_ about falling. 

Stiles crashes into Derek like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle, like the ocean’s tide against the beach on a full moon just like tonight. He fits into him like they were _made_ for this moment. So made for each other that it _hurts_. 

At first it’s cloying, clawing, breathtaking, and beautiful. Their lips meet and fireworks set off like a bright light. It’s like Stiles was blind, fumbling for a switch, and Derek knew how to turn it on. 

And then it’s like a live wire exposed and it’s all too much and not enough all at once. 

It leaves them both gasping for air shared between their mouths, and then they just dive right back in. 

Distantly, Stiles feels the dip in the mattress as he’s pressed back into it, but he’s too busy digging his nails into the meat of Derek’s shoulders, too busy getting lost in the slip and slide of skin on skin. 

They don’t break away more than an inch, but they don’t really need to because Derek’s nails just rake down the lines of clothing Stiles is wearing, and then his bare skin meets the air. 

His stuff is pushed onto the floor, and Derek pushes in impossibly closer. He’s pressed against Stiles in a solid line of rigid muscles and hot skin, and he just wants _more_. He needs it like he needs air. 

In fact, he’s not so sure he even needs air at this point. 

“Need you,” he pants out between kisses, and Derek moves to kiss sloppily at the side of his mouth, the junction of his jaw where it meets the skin of his neck, and then he’s forced to bare his throat as Derek’s nuzzles in close, breathing in long and deep, mouth open and panting out hot breaths against his sweat slick skin. 

“Want you,” is Derek’s reply. 

Stiles pushes him away then, shoves him hard by his shoulders so he’ll snap out of it enough to get undressed but Stiles realizes what a bad mistake it was to do that. 

Because Derek, with his sharp teeth and burning eyes, his long nails, his predatory gaze, looks like he just got kicked in the dick. 

“Clothes,” Stiles pants, “off.” 

Derek complies then with a quick, relieved nod of his head. His hair sticks up in wild directions, and Stiles watches him, watches the ripple and sinew of his skin and muscles as he pulls his shirt off, as he pulls his pants down. 

He slots their bodies back together, and it makes it easier to breathe. It feels like his first breath — terrifying, painful, and a miracle. 

Derek immediately sets back to licking into his mouth, slow and tentative. His grinds their bodies together, cocks hard and aching between them. When they line up and roll their hips at the same time, it makes Stiles open his mouth wide, lips parted on a gasp. 

“First time you touched me,” Derek growls into his skin, biting and sucking and licking his way down, down, down, “first time you pressed your hand on my neck — fuck, Stiles.” 

Stiles buries his fingers in Derek’s hair, tangles the strands and makes them stick up further. Derek licks his way down his naval, paying special attention to the juncture of his hip and thigh, teasing. 

“Der, need it, need you. Want you so bad, I’ve always wanted you,” he gasps out, and tries to stifle a moan as Derek fits himself between his legs. He moves Stiles’s legs up so his feet are planted on the bed, and he grabs onto his hips and pulls him in close. He breathes in so deep, and Stiles mimics him. 

His room smells like sweat, sex, and a mixture of his and Derek’s scent. 

It’s intoxicating. 

Derek flashes his eyes at him, then lets them flutter shut as he takes Stiles all the way into his mouth like he’s a pro. 

“Oh, fuck, Der — oh, _god_ , shit, fuck,” he bites out, and he chews on his lip and lets his head fall back against the pillows as Derek starts bobbing his head, all slow and sweet — not enough. Stiles involuntarily fucks his hips up, but Derek holds him there, anchors him. 

Derek teases him for a long time, until he’s leaking and so hard it _hurts_. Until he can start to feel that zing that starts at the base of his skull, making its way down his spine until — 

“Fuck, Derek I’m coming, oh, _Derek_ ,” he moans and drags out the syllables as he spills his release in the warm heat of Derek’s mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of his throat. And he can feel Derek swallow around him a couple times as his cock keeps dripping sluggishly. 

His toes curl in the sheets and his back bows and he shuts his eyes so tight and rides it out as Derek wrings him dry. He shoves at Derek’s head with a trembling hand, cock over sensitive, each little pass of Derek’s tongue sending a jolt through his entire body. 

Derek gets the message and listens, but he doesn’t stop. He just diverts his attention elsewhere. 

“Lube, drawer,” Stiles manages to slur, and Derek reaches up and behind him, fishing around until he finds it. Stiles hears the snap of the cap opening and closing, and then Derek’s draping himself over Stiles, kissing him fast, all teeth and tongue, as he pushes one finger in, then two, then three as the minutes go by. “Ready, ready,” he gasps out. 

Derek buries his face in Stiles’s neck, pushes in so close it’s suffocating. And then he’s pushing in, and in, and in until he’s so deep Stiles can feel it in every nerve in his body. He stays still, panting out hot and heavy against Stiles’s throat. 

Stiles feels the prickle of his nails poking out, can feel the length of Derek’s fangs teasing over the long cord of muscle connecting his shoulder and his neck. 

“Come on, Der, move.” 

“Love you, love you,” he replies. He takes in big gulps of air, and then he’s pulling out and pushing back in. Stiles groans at the stretch, at the feeling of another person inside of him; the feeling of _Derek_ so open and exposed and he feels the same. 

“I love you, Der,” he sighs, and uses his arms and legs as leverage to pull him in so close that he can’t even pull out all the way, he just grinds in over and over and over until he’s practically growling on every other exhale. “Love you, Alpha.” 

And Derek fucking _roars_ as he comes, his hips jolting, pushing and pulling between their bodies until he’s so spent all he can do is shift side to side. Stiles reaches one hand between their bodies, and the other to wrap around the nape of Derek’s neck as he jacks himself off. 

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’s torso and hugs him in close, and Stiles comes again with a choked off cry. 

They lay like that for a long time, one person, one being, one soul finally whole again. They stay that way until Stiles starts dozing off, body lax, mind sated and happy. 

Derek pulls out with a slick sound, and they both groan at the oversensitivity. 

“C’mon,” Derek grunts. “Shower. Gross.” 

“Caveman. Never thought I’d get off on it, but I could get used to it,” Stiles mumbles, and throws an arm over his eyes. “Can’t we just stay like this? I’m good if you’re good.” 

Derek just makes an unhappy sound and pulls himself off of Stiles, skin sticking together. 

“Getting towel.” 

“Staying here,” Stiles replies. 

It takes Derek less than an minute to come back with a warm, damp towel, but he spends a lot of time gently cleaning Stiles all over, leaving fresh kisses in his wake. 

He leeches the pain from the bruises he left, but he leaves the marks. Especially the ones on his neck. 

Finally, he settles in next to Stiles, wrapping his arms around his middle and spooning him from behind. 

“Always knew you were a big cuddler.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Hey, Derek?” 

“Hm?” 

“Just for the record,” Stiles swallows audibly, and turns to face him, “I would follow you to the ends of the Earth and then I’d keep on going.” 

Derek searches his eyes for a long moment, and then he lets his own close. He presses a soft kiss to his shoulder. 

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” 

“Good, me neither.”

###### 


End file.
